and of pity, suffering for others, and passionate desire to
give herself entirely to helping them. It was plain that at that
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moment there was in Natasha’s heart no thought of herself
or of her own relations with Prince Andrew.
Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, understood all
this at the first glance at Natasha’s face, and wept on her
shoulder with sorrowful pleasure.
‘Come, come to him, Mary,’ said Natasha, leading her
into the other room.
Princess Mary raised her head, dried her eyes, and
turned to Natasha. She felt that from her she would be able
to understand and learn everything.
‘How…’ she began her question but stopped short.
She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in
words. Natasha’s face eyes would eyes would have to tell her
all more clearly and profoundly.
Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt
whether to say all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that
before those luminous eyes which penetrated into the very
depths of her heart, it was impossible not to tell the whole
truth which she saw. And suddenly, Natasha’s lips twitched,
ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, and covering her
face with her hands she burst into sobs.
Princess Mary understood.
But she still hoped, and asked, in words she herself did
not trust:
‘But how is his wound? What is his general condition?’
‘You, you… will see,’ was all Natasha could say.
They sat a little while downstairs near his room till they
had left off crying and were able to go to him with calm
faces.
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‘How has his whole illness gone? Is it long since he grew
worse? When did this happen?’ Princess Mary inquired.
Natasha told her that at first there had been danger from
his feverish condition and the pain he suffered, but at Troitsa that had passed and the doctor had only been afraid of
gangrene. That danger had also passed. When they reached
Yaroslavl the wound had begun to fester (Natasha knew all
about such things as festering) and the doctor had said that
the festering might take a normal course. Then fever set in,
but the doctor had said the fever was not very serious.
‘But two days ago this suddenly happened,’ said Natasha,
struggling with her sobs. ‘I don’t know why, but you will see
what he is like.’
‘Is he weaker? Thinner?’ asked the princess.
‘No, it’s not that, but worse. You will see. O, Mary, he is
too good, he cannot, cannot live, because..’
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War and Peace
Chapter XV
When Natasha opened Prince Andrew’s door with a familiar movement and let Princess Mary pass into the room
before her, the princess felt the sobs in her throat. Hard as
she had tried to prepare herself, and now tried to remain
tranquil, she knew that she would be unable to look at him
without tears.
The princess understood what Natasha had meant by the
words: ‘two days ago this suddenly happened.’ She understood those words to mean that he had suddenly softened
and that this softening and gentleness were signs of approaching death. As she stepped to the door she already saw
in imagination Andrew’s face as she remembered it in childhood, a gentle, mild, sympathetic face which he had rarely
shown, and which therefore affected her very strongly. She
was sure he would speak soft, tender words to her such as her
father had uttered before his death, and that she would not
be able to bear it and would burst into sobs in his presence.
Yet sooner or later it had to be, and she went in. The sobs rose
higher and higher in her throat as she more and more clearly distinguished his form and her shortsighted eyes tried to
make out his features, and then she saw his face and met his
gaze.
He was lying in a squirrel-fur dressing gown on a divan,
surrounded by pillows. He was thin and pale. In one thin,
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translucently white hand he held a handkerchief, while with
the other he stroked the delicate mustache he had grown,
moving his fingers slowly. His eyes gazed at them as they
entered.
On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Princess Mary’s
pace suddenly slackened, she felt her tears dry up and her
sobs ceased. She suddenly felt guilty and grew timid on
catching the expression of his face and eyes.
‘But in what am I to blame?’ she asked herself. And his
cold, stern look replied: ‘Because you are alive and thinking
of the living, while I..’
In the deep the deep gaze that seemed to look not outwards but inwards there was an almost hostile expression as
he slowly regarded his sister and Natasha.
He kissed his sister, holding her hand in his as was their
wont.
‘How are you, Mary? How did you manage to get here?’
said he in a voice as calm and aloof as his look.
Had he screamed in agony, that scream would not have
struck such horror into Princess Mary’s heart as the tone of
his voice.
‘And have you brought little Nicholas?’ he asked in the
same slow, quiet manner and with an obvious effort to remember.
‘How are you now?’ said Princess Mary, herself surprised
at what she was saying.
‘That, my dear, you must ask the doctor,’ he replied, and
again making an evident effort to be affectionate, he said
with his lips only (his words clearly did not correspond to
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his thoughts):
‘Merci, chere amie, d’etre venue.’*
*”Thank you for coming, my dear.’
Princess Mary pressed his hand. The pressure made him
wince just perceptibly. He was silent, and she did not know
what to say. She now understood what had happened to him
two days before. In his words, his tone, and especially in that
calm, almost antagonistic look could be felt an estrangement
from everything belonging to this world, terrible in one who
is alive. Evidently only with an effort did he understand anything living; but it was obvious that he failed to understand,
not because he lacked the power to do so but because he understood something elsesomething the living did not and
could not understandand which wholly occupied his mind.
‘There, you see how strangely fate has brought us together,’ said he, breaking the silence and pointing to Natasha.
‘She looks after me all the time.’
Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how
he could say such a thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince
Andrew, how could he say that, before her whom he loved
and who loved him? Had he expected to live he could not
have said those words in that offensively cold tone. If he had
not known that he was dying, how could he have failed to
pity her and how could he speak like that in her presence?
The only explanation was that he was indifferent, because
something else, much more important, had been revealed
to him.
The conversation was cold and disconnected and continually broke off.
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‘Mary came by way of Ryazan,’ said Natasha.
Prince Andrew did not notice that she called his sister Mary, and only after calling her so in his presence did
Natasha notice it herself.
‘Really?’ he asked.
‘They told her that all Moscow has been burned down,
and that..’
Natasha stopped. It was impossible to talk. It was plain
that he was making an effort to listen, but could not do so.
‘Yes, they say it’s burned,’ he said. ‘It’s a great pity,’ and he
gazed straight before him, absently stroking his mustache
with his fingers.
‘And so you have met Count Nicholas, Mary?’ Prince Andrew suddenly said, evidently wishing to speak pleasantly to
them. ‘He wrote here that he took a great liking to you,’ he
went on simply and calmly, evidently unable to understand
all the complex significance his words had for living people.
‘If you liked him too, it would be a good thing for you to get
married,’ he added rather more quickly, as if pleased at having found words he had long been seeking.
Princess Mary heard his words but they had no meaning
for her, except as a proof of how far away he now was from
everything living.
‘Why talk of me?’ she said quietly and glanced at
Natasha.
Natasha, who felt her glance, did not look at her. All three
were again silent.
‘Andrew, would you like…’ Princess Mary suddenly said
in a trembling voice, ‘would you like to see little Nicholas?
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He is always talking about you!’
Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and for the first
time, but Princess Mary, who knew his face so well, saw with
horror that he did not smile with pleasure or affection for
his son, but with quiet, gentle irony because he thought she
was trying what she believed to be the last means of arousing him.
‘Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Is he quite well?’
When little Nicholas was brought into Prince Andrew’s
room he looked at his father with frightened eyes, but did not
cry, because no one else was crying. Prince Andrew kissed
him and evidently did not know what to say to him.
When Nicholas had been led away, Princess Mary again
went up to her brother, kissed him, and unable to restrain
her tears any longer began to cry.
He looked at her attentively.
‘Is it about Nicholas?’ he asked.
Princess Mary nodded her head, weeping.
‘Mary, you know the Gosp…’ but he broke off.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing. You mustn’t cry here,’ he said, looking at her
with the same cold expression.
When Princess Mary began to cry, he understood that
she was crying at the thought that little Nicholas would be
left without a father. With a great effort he tried to return to
life and to see things from their point of view.
‘Yes, to them it must seem sad!’ he thought. ‘But how simple it is.
‘The fowls of the air sow not, neither do they reap, yet
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your Father feedeth them,’ he said to himself and wished
to say to Princess Mary; ‘but no, they will take it their own
way, they won’t understand! They can’t understand that all
those feelings they prize soall our feelings, all those ideas
that seem so important to us, are unnecessary. We cannot
understand one another,’ and he remained silent.
Prince Andrew’s little son was seven. He could scarcely read, and knew nothing. After that day he lived through
many things, gaining knowledge, observation,
